


soothe the pain away (the best you can)

by mikkal



Series: sleeping at last (oct '19) [10]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Hurt Noctis Lucis Caelum, Hurt/Comfort, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 01:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21066233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkal/pseuds/mikkal
Summary: The aftermath of a hunt gone wrong.Dualhorns can move pretty fast for animals their size, honestly.Whumptober 2019 Day 12: "Don't Move."





	soothe the pain away (the best you can)

**Author's Note:**

> Yep! We've reached the point where I'm jumping around. I'm not skipping days, promise, but stab wound was giving me trouble and I was getting annoyed. This was much easier.
> 
> The series will be arranged to reflect day order not release order.

The sandstorm comes out of nowhere, but it can’t be helped. With how arid and dusty Leide is, sandstorms are inevitable.

Still, it couldn’t have been worse timing. Ignis checks his watch then the map, frowning even as Prompto kicks his antics up a notch to inject a little light-heartedness into what has become a sour mood. He can appreciate attempt, really, but Hammerhead is too far away, dusk has already taken hold of the sky, and rumor has it there’s a Yojimbo lurking here in the Three Valleys.

A daemon of such high caliber and danger, he’s heard, that even the best Hunters refuse to touch the hunt request anymore. Anyone who’s tried have either been killed without mercy or suffered much worse fates. And Ignis would rather not even risk it, especially with how worn out they are now. _Especially_ with Noctis cradling his arm like that, scowling past the pain that bleaches his face pale and carves lines in his forehead and around his mouth.

“We make camp,” Ignis decides, folding the map into his jacket pocket. It takes less time to pull it from there than the aether that is Noctis’ armory. “The Merrioth Haven is not too far from here.”

“But Hammerhead is right there,” Noctis protests, which, fair. They would all rather sleep on real beds after their kind of week, even if they are cramped camper beds than something from the Leville. But—.

Ignis adjusts his glasses and eyes the greenish tin overtaking the paleness of his prince’s face. “Half a mile is _not_ what I would count as ‘right there,’” he replies tersely. Noctis opens his mouth to argue again. “We won’t have time before the daemons come out in full force and that’s not considering the wildlife more than willing to waylay us. Not to mention…” He very gently touches Noctis’ elbow and the greenish color surges back into stark white, paler than before. “Sorry. But we can’t attempt it. I’d rather not have you fight with that injury.”

As if on cue, a gust of wind blasts through the Valleys. Noctis takes the worse of it, sand stinging his skin and stumbling him into Gladio. He cries out when the impact jostles his injury, knees collapsing. Gladio can’t even try to catch him, there’s nowhere safe to grab, and can only watch helplessly as Noctis crashes to the ground, bad arm hugged to his chest, forehead pressed into a patch of dry grass as he heaves.

Sabertusks catch wind of Noctis’ cry and they can hear their wailing howls get closer.

“Camp,” Noctis pants out, saliva dripping from his lips as he breathes through his mouth while also trying to shove back the urge to vomit. “Camp. _Camp_. Please, just get me a potion.”

Ignis’ heart twists. “Not until I see what the damage is,” he says regretfully.

With Prompto’s help, they get Noctis standing. The four of them stagger their way the Haven, a fire deposit signaling how close they are and washing relief across three of them. Noctis blindly follows their directions, his face turning grey now and his eyes growing glassy. For a moment, he drifts without notice towards the deposit, drawn by the magical energy that reflects in his soul, but Ignis tugs gently on his hip to direct him towards the Haven’s slope.

Prompto keeps Noctis steady as Ignis and Gladio set up the tent, him whispering soothing words in Noctis’ ear, hand dragging up and down his spine. It’s not exactly the worse injury any of them have gotten since this whole disaster of a road trip started, but it is the first possible broken bone so it’s the first time they haven’t been able to throw a potion onto it immediately. Prompto got impaled once by a ronin’s sword during an unfortunate hunt that went sideways and for too long, bringing out the daemons. While he almost died, it was a simple matter of cracking two hi-potions over his chest and he was good as new with only a couple new storylines for his nightmares.

All their nightmares, really.

Noctis sags heavier and heavier against Prompto, his knees buckling and sliding. “’m gonna—,” he slurs. That’s the only warning he gets before he’s shoving off Prompto and staggering to the edge of the Haven to vomit. Nothing but bile comes up and everyone collectively remembers their rather small breakfast so long ago and the quick lunch that Noctis all but ignored.

Ignis slams the last pike into the worn divot of the Haven’s stone and summons a wide-rimmed bowl from the armory. He shoos a fluttering Prompto away from their prince, shoving the bowl in his hands and ordering him towards the small stream trickling between the spikes of a blizzard deposit. Prompto goes reluctantly, face pale and knuckles white around the bowl, something grateful in his expression for the distraction disguised as being useful as Noctis gags over another roll of nausea. Ignis then kneels next to Noctis, one hand on his back and moving in small comforting circles, and his other hand bracing his good shoulder to keep him from toppling over the edge.

Tears drip off the tip of his nose as the force of his heaves rattle his injury. Ignis curls around him as another blast of wind rips through. Noctis laughs harshly then groans.

“This _sucks_,” he mutters.

Ignis sighs. “I know.” He pats his chest, slowly moving him into a more upright position. “Come on, into the tent.”

Noctis dreads the idea of standing, the phantom feel of his shoulder grinding together and his nerves sparking already has his stomach rolling again and his eyes sting. “I—.”

His friend gives him a tight, regretful smile. Noctis sighs. He doesn’t have a choice. Not with the storm bearing down on them. Ignis helps him stand on wobbly legs and leads him into the tent, setting him down on a pile of sleeping bags Gladio had set up. Noctis pants for air, sweat shining his forehead, hair curling along his jaw, and all around looking positively miserable.

Ignis presses a palm to his forehead and slides it to card fingers through his damp hair. Noctis closes his eyes at the touch, leaning into it. “Don’t move,” he says softly.

“Wasn’t thinkin’ it,” Noctis murmurs. Despite his words, he follows Ignis’ hand anyway as it pulls away. Until his shoulder _burns_ and he whimpers, cowering towards the pain, his good shoulder curling towards his ear. “_Oh_…” he whispers, like it’s surprise. More tears leak out, clumping his eyelashes together.

He kneels next to him and takes his bad arm gently, trying not to jostle it or move too quickly, but even the slight touch has Noctis whimpering. He’s trying hard not to jerk away from his advisor, the hand of his good arm clutching his pant leg in a grip so tight his knuckles pull white, his entire body trembles with pain and effort.

“That grandhorn did a number on you,” Ignis murmurs. He doesn’t bother poking and prodding. Instead, he sets his arm back down and tugs carefully on the collar of his shirt, exposing his collarbone. There’s already swelling, a sickening bulge popping out from his shoulder, the skin is a grotesque mix of blue and purple, borderline black, bruising.

A broken collarbone. And they have only a handful of regular potions left. One won’t be enough to heal it completely and they can’t risk giving him more than that.

“Iggy,” Noctis sobs. Ignis runs another soothing hand through his hair, cupping the back of neck carefully. Noctis sways, slumping against him with his forehead cradled in the juncture of his advisor’s neck and shoulder. He’s clammy, too cold on Ignis’ skin.

Ignis presses his cheek to the crown of his head. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs.

They’ve fought dualhorns before, even once an ashenhorn that took all their effort, and while they won this battle and took care of the problem, it seems their hunt of two grandhorns and three dualhorns took their toll. They weren’t _stealthy_ animals to begin with, yet, somehow, that final grandhorn had come out of nowhere and charged Noctis with all the fury a six-ton animal can contain.

Which is a lot.

That last one was pushing it, but they managed with only a few scrapes here and there and one unfortunate broken collarbone. Oh, and of course Noctis wavering on the edge of stasis. Can’t forget that bit, oh no, because that’s probably the reason the grandhorn got the jump on him in the first place.

Of course, they would’ve been at a complete loss without Noctis’ warping. There was no getting around that.

Ignis silently reaches into the armory and cracks the simple potion over Noctis’ back. The glass bottle dissolves and drips through his fingers like sand, taking on the same healing properties with magic Ignis only understands a fraction on despite all his knowledge, and the tension in Noctis smooths out into something not quite relief, but definitely better than the careful way he’d been holding himself before.

“Thanks,” he mumbles into Ignis’ shirt.

Ignis continues to sooth him with the same careful motions through his hair. “Of course,” he replies, sort of despairing over the fact he can’t do _more_, but with Noctis boneless against him and no longer crying in pain and misery, he’s more than grateful for what he _can _do.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @mikkalia15  
twitter @mik_kal15  



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